irrationally
by RookieGinge
Summary: Oneshot, set after 'Hearts & Sparks'. Andy-centric. / Her shoes don't make a dramatic clacking as she walks away; only an occasional squeak from her rubber soles sliding against the polished linoleum.


**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own Rookie Blue._

_Rated: T, to be safe._

_A/N: So ... *awkward silence*. Yeah, it's been about a month. Won't waste your time with excuses, but I _am_ sorry. Worst case of writer's block I've ever had. Couldn't write a thing - worth reading - for _weeks_._

_Anyways, that's why I'm so late to the party with this fic, which is set after episode 4, _Heart & Sparks_._

_Quick refresher that is relevant to this oneshot: Andy finds Jo and Luke in Luke's hospital room, popping balloons, etc. Earlier on, while still at the station, Sam had asked Andy if she needed a ride, which she declined._

_This is from Andy's POV, in 3rd person, and I sincerely hope you enjoy! Most likely coming: a sequel from Sam's POV, following off from what is probably a very unsatisfactory ending ;)._

_..._

It's highly likely that she's being irrational.

After all, how has she been wronged? So what if her fiancé's ex-lover/fellow-detective is visiting him in the hospital? Even if it's the first time she's seen him smile – _really_ smile, small but with sincerity – since he was shot three times in the stomach. Even if Jo is succeeding in doing what she herself has undoubtedly failed: letting Luke breathe again. It's hardly as though laughing and popping balloons and trashing roses with a 'friend' is a concrete reason to get angry, even if she hasn't yet managed become comfortable seeing Luke with his ex. It's not like she's that creepy possessive girlfriend (fiancée) who won't allow her partner to talk to other women.

That's why she's probably being irrational.

But irrationally or not, there's a burning sensation in her throat as she stands outside the hospital room for a moment. She blinks as her eyes sting with involuntary tears and her brow furrows, an uncomfortable clenching in her gut as she inhales sharply and turns to leave. The potted plant feels heavy with a weight that goes beyond the physical, and she doesn't even make a conscious decision to be rid of it, the clay simply sliding from between her fingers and down into the garbage bin.

(It's not like she was that fond of the plant anyway.)

Her shoes don't make a dramatic _clack_ing as she walks away; only an occasional squeak from her rubber soles sliding against the polished linoleum. She doesn't run, attracting attention as she leaves; her walk is slightly quicker than a normal pace, but no one she passes in the hallways acknowledges her presence with so much as a glance, all solely intent on either their work or their loved ones currently in the hospital's care. She doesn't burst out the doors with her hair flying behind her; she slips out the sliding doors calmly, raking a hand through her hair and letting it fall back into place.

She walks toward the street, not noticing how dark it's gotten despite the lights of the city. She's about halfway from the hospital to the street, weaving her way through the parking lot, when she starts to think about how seriously unpleasant the thought of either walking home or taking public transit at this time of night is.

She can take care of herself, (she _is_ a cop), but she's also off duty; and there are just some situations that it's better to avoid getting into, especially when one is completely unarmed.

Her steps slow, but she keeps walking. She's already turned the corner out of the parking lot in the direction of home by the time she realizes the internal debate waging within her.

She takes a deep breath, picking up her pace just slightly, and sighing. She's angry, and she's hurt, and she can't even explain to herself why. Not properly, anyway.

She doesn't particular want to have to interact with _anyone_ in the state she's in. Tracy would just ask questions, because she can't understand that some people just don't want to talk about the things that are bothering them, even to their best friend. Dov would be safer, because he _does _understand that, but he shares a truck with Chris. While she could most likely deal with Chris' inquiries, knowing that they were of the best intentions, there's no way she can deal with Gail, who would undoubtedly be tagging along.

She's walked two blocks by this point – eyes constantly scanning the people and cars around her, shoulders subconsciously hunched inward – as her mind swings around to the first person she'd thought to call: Sam.

He can be difficult sometimes – or _a lot_ of the time. Plus, he's probably still at The Black Penney, and she doesn't want to bother him … but fact is that she doesn't have any other options left, and the house she and Luke now share is on the other side of the city. Plus, a part of her feels like she needs to see him.

He's annoying, and he follows his own rules, expecting the people around him to understand that and – for the most part – do the same. He'll go from acting like an eight-year-old to behaving like a no-nonsense middle-aged man, tells crappy jokes that are only funny because they're so terrible, and can sometimes act like an asshole. But despite all of that, he's surprisingly _steady_.

She trusts him … more than anyone else. He makes her feel safe and secure, even when her emotions are all over the place like they are right now. He's dependable, and – doing so for the first time since her mother walked out – she has come to depend upon him.

So she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket, pressing the number one and holding the phone to her ear before she can change her mind. And when she hears the familiar voice answer on the other end, she closes her eyes briefly, smiling despite all inner turmoil, and says:

"I could really use that ride now."

_..._

_The end._

_Please review! I'd love to know what you thought!_


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